


Day Thirty-One

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: 30+ Days of TFW Imagines [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind!Reader, Gen, Reader is the Winchesters' little sister, Reader-Insert, hurt!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Imagine crying yourself to sleep in Dean's arms when you get blinded by a Demon on a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Thirty-One

“Y/N, get down!”

The warning comes too late. A sharp pain stabs into the base of your skull. You don't even manage a cry of pain before you sink into unconsciousness.

X X X X X X

Dean paces the length of your hospital room, clenching and unclenching his fists. He already almost punched the doctor.

Sam is sitting by your bed, head on his hands. Poor kid is exhausted. Dean told him to go back to the motel and get some rest, but he wouldn't go.

Suddenly, you begin to stir. Dean rushes to your side, giving Sam's shoulder a gentle shake as he does. Sam sits up, and then snaps to attention when he realizes what's happening.

You mumble something indiscernible, trying to turn your head despite the neck brace the doctor put you in to prevent that very thing, so you won't pull out your stitches.

“D?” you slur, still not quite awake.

“I’m here,” he assures you, taking your hand in his.

“Sammy?”

“I’m here, too,” Sammy says.

You groan, brow furrowing. “Is there something covering my eyes?” you say, decidedly more awake as you blink your eyes open.

Dean shakes his head, exchanging a concerned look with Sam. “Y/N, there’s nothing there.”

Realization crosses your face and you look up at him. He gasps. Your eyes, once bright and clear, are covered with a milky white film.

“Dean,” you say in a small, scared voice. “I can’t see.”

X X X X X X

In your personal opinion, being blind sucks.

According to the doctor, when the Demon- though he obviously doesn’t know it was a Demon- stabbed you, he severed several nerves vital to sight. They did their best to repair the damage, but it clearly didn't work.

The Winchesters get you discharged as soon as possible, and then start the long drive back to the Bunker.

You quickly realize that sitting alone in the backseat is not your idea of fun. Yes, you logically know your brothers are there- you can hear their banter- but that doesn't stop you from clutching the back of Sam’s jacket in a desperate need to  _feel_.

After a few hours of this, Dean pulls over and Sam moves to the back. You cuddle up to him, feeling much better, and stick your headphones in again. With the loss of your sight, all your other senses are heightened and too much sound can be overwhelming. The music and Sam’s steady presence, are calming.

The boys switch off regularly over the rest of the trip. This allows both your brothers some time to rest, as well as providing you with the comfort you need and shortening the usual time drastically, as they don’t need to stop for sleep.

X X X X X X

_Four Weeks Later_

“I can’t do it!” you shout, throwing down the book, a copy of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s  _The Little Princess_  in Braille.

“Whoa, calm down,” Dean says, rounding the library table to lay a careful hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you should take a break. You’ve been at that for hours. How about a nap? I’ll even join you.”

“A nap does sound nice,” you admit. “Fine.”

“Alright. Do you think you can make it to your room on your own or do you want some help?”

You bite your lip, considering the options. You’ve been getting better at finding your way around the Bunker on your own, but it’s exhausting and you just want to lay down. You don’t want to worry about walls or stairs or the boots Sam leaves lying around.

“I… I wouldn’t mind some help,” you admit.

“I can do that. Do you want a walk or should I carry you?”

After a moment of thought, you hold your arms up to him. He chuckles, but there’s a fond sound to it.

“I’m going to pick you up now. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Okay. Here we go.”

Strong arms slip under your knees and around your shoulders. With a soft grunt, your oldest brother lifts you up. You help him by wrapping your own arms around his neck. Once he has you settled in his grip, he makes his way through the halls to your room.

“You’ll really stay?” you ask as he sets you on your bed.

“If you really want me to.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

Dean sits on the edge of the bed and gently strokes your hair. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your knees. “I can’t see. What do you think?”

“I think you’re pushing yourself too far, too fast,” he says. “Come here,”

He draws you into a tender embrace, one hand rubbing along your spine. You’re tense for a long moment, before you feel yourself gradually melting against him.

As your muscles loosen, a familiar prickling forms in your eyes. Before you can stop it, you’re crying. Dean is murmuring soothing words in your ear, petting your hair and rubbing your back.

You don’t know how long you cry for. By the time you finally calm down, you’re exhausted.

“Shh,” Dean say quietly. “Rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right here.”

You do just that,

X X X X X X

“Sam?”

“Yes, Mouse?”

You carefully feel your way along the back of the couch to where your brother is sitting. “What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing much. I’m thinking about starting  _The Lost Prince_. I’ve heard it’s good.”

“Hmm, from who?” you ask, sliding your hands over his broad shoulders.

“A little mouse told me,” he says fondly, lifting a hand to cover one of yours. “What can I do for you?”

“Will you read to me?”

“Of course, Mouse. Come on, sit here.”

You happily make your way around the couch to cuddle up beside your brother. Sam puts a strong arm around your shoulders. “What shall we read?” he asks.

“ _The Lost Prince_  sounds good to me.”

“Alright then.” He leans forward to, you assume, grab the book. “From the beginning, then?”

You nod, laying your head against his chest.

“Sounds like a plan.” You hear the rustling of papers, and then Sam takes a breath. “Chapter One: The New Lodgers at No. 7 Philibert Place. _There are many dreary and dingy rows of ugly houses in certain parts of London, but there certainly could not be any row more ugly or dingier than Philibert Place_ …”

X X X X X X

Being blind still sucks, but having awesome big brothers certainly helps.  


End file.
